Treble Maker

by Annabeth Albert

  “Oh, they are! I posted some pictures on my Facebook. But you haven’t updated yours in days.”

  “Uh.” Lucas swiped at his forehead with his free hand. “We’re not allowed to post pictures from the show at all yet. And we’re really busy . . .” And he didn’t have adequate words to describe his week. Just made out with my kind-of-sort-of-maybe boyfriend in the practice room! Go me! Or maybe, My voice sounds like crap today because my maybe-boyfriend made me scream last night. Achievement Unlocked! Or Lucas Norwood is now in a relationship. Yeah. That would happen south of never. Cody might be sleeping in Lucas’s bed more, but Lucas still had trouble visualizing a future full of tagged pictures and matching status updates.

  Resolving to get online and hit Like on kid pictures and funny cat memes, he wiped more sweat from his brow, then rubbed his hand on his pants.

  “Of course you are! We understand, honey.” His mom’s tone was reassuring. “That’s why I called tonight. Figured tomorrow you’d be too busy with the show taping.” He could tell from the clinking noises in the background that she was cooking something. His stomach rumbled. He might not be homesick, but he sure as heck missed her cooking.

  “Yeah. I’ll text you guys after—let you know if we’re continuing on to next week.” He rolled his shoulders, hoping his body made it through taping. It was their best arrangement yet, but Ashley had decided good vocals meant the freedom to experiment with the choreography.

  “I really hope you are, because after I saw Chuck O’Malley I had the best idea.”

  Ruh-roh. Lucas’s brain made a Scooby-Doo noise. This wasn’t going to be good.

  “What?” Digging his water out of his backpack, he took a sip. Didn’t help his suddenly dry mouth.

  “I checked our air miles—” Oh, no, no, no. Lucas started praying in earnest, but he already knew what her next words would be. “Your dad and I are coming for the next taping. We want to meet your new group.”

  “Um.” Lucas coughed, seriously considering dropping the phone and pretending later that the connection had been lost. “You don’t need to do that—”

  “Oh, but we want to! It’ll be a nice weekend away before school starts back up.”

  “I’m super busy—we don’t get a ton of time.” Try none. The whole week had been one long blur of endless rehearsals and costume fittings. Taping tomorrow would be a relief. “You guys would be bored.”

  “You are allowed to eat dinner, right?” Even without seeing her, he knew his mom’s eyes were narrowing as she prepared her argument. “And they don’t keep you locked up, right? Chuck said you’ve got audience tickets?”

  Well, wasn’t Chuck just a font of information. None of the Embellish or M&M members had family close enough to use the studio audience tickets, but some of the other groups had local supporters who had been able to get tickets for the show tapings.

  “You’ll have to sign a nondisclosure to get the tickets.”

  “I think I can handle the fine print,” his mother said, her voice drier than bread crumbs. “And LA isn’t exactly lacking in things for your dad and me to do. I’ve always wanted to see the Getty.”

  “Yeah,” he said weakly.

  “Lucas—” His mother lowered her voice, softer now. “Is there a reason you don’t want us to come?”

  Yeah. He’s about six feet tall and has a rainbow tattoo on his shoulder and more piercings than you and the girls put together. “Nope. No reason. Just don’t want you to get your hopes up if we don’t make it through this week.”

  “Oh, I know you will. I know you miss your old group, but this is such a neat opportunity.”

  “Uh-huh.” Great. Now he was squeezed between wanting more than anything to advance and wanting to get cut to spare himself the parental invasion. You can’t come. You can’t. He needed an excuse. Something to put them off. But all his mind could come up with was a blue screen of death.

  “I’ll be praying for you to do well.” You do that. Assured of Lucas’s cooperation, his mother’s tone was a lot more cheery now. The whir of her mixer sounded in the background, and he knew as soon as they hung up she’d flip on NPR while she finished up whatever she was baking. His nose filled with the memory of how their kitchen always smelled like cookies on Friday night.

  “Thanks.” His heart twisted. He missed her more than he’d realized.

  “Maybe we can take your new group out to dinner while we’re there. We want to meet your new friends.”

  Friends. What an innocuous word. He wasn’t exactly friends with Raven and Ashley. If he weren’t in the group, he doubted either would pay him any attention. He and Jeff got along and worked well together—Jeff would have made a good M&M member, if the guys could look beyond the drinking and hooking up. But all three of them wouldn’t know what to make of Lucas’s parents. And Cody? Oh, God, he couldn’t even imagine the epic disaster waiting to happen.

  Because he and Cody weren’t just friends, but he couldn’t explain exactly what they were to himself, let alone to his parents. I really shouldn’t have picked up the phone. He’d intended for his parents to never know about Cody, but returning home and going back to his old life seemed bleaker and more depressing every day. He wasn’t ready to say good-bye.

  And not just to Cody and the rest of Embellish—he wasn’t ready to say good-bye to the person he got to be here. He didn’t have to worry about which part of the honor code he might be offending. Didn’t have to iron his pants or smooth his hair flat. Didn’t have to worry about sounding too gay or whether he was setting a good example.

  “That sounds good,” he finally said, because what other choice did he have? Knowing his mom, she and his dad had already picked flights and where to stay. He couldn’t get mad at them for being supportive. But their support felt like a heavy coat, unwelcome and stifling in the warm LA air.

  After he hung up, he took the long way up to the room, using the stairs to try to come up with a good way to tell Cody about his folks coming to town. It’s going to send him running.

  He stopped on the third-floor landing, clinging to the banister. The few times he’d imagined bringing someone home to his parents, the faceless person beside him hadn’t been anything like Cody. And then he’d felt weird because he liked the hypothetical reaction of his parents far more than he liked the imaginary “perfect” boyfriend.

  He’d never felt for anyone what he felt for Cody. Watching him sing was like watching a tiger strut around. He knew he wouldn’t ever own such a wild, beautiful creature, wouldn’t want to cage it, but coveted it nonetheless. But when they hung out together, there were these little moments when Cody came down to earth and transformed into something Lucas could connect with—real and sweet and tender and hot. In those moments, he felt like he’d won the lottery.

  But he wasn’t sure his parents would agree.

  Saturday night’s show was a salute to American teen culture—top 40 pop songs, back-to-school clothes, and a bunch of sweaty, nervous groups who would fit right in to a high school movie. The opening number had looked like a fall clothing ad, a mosaic of faux schoolgirl skirts and plaid everything. Cody wished he could remove the cable knit sweater the wardrobe ladies had insisted he wear—he looked like a damned hipster lumberjack.

  The harsh stage lights had sweat dripping down his back, but the cameras were rolling, so all he could do was grin, like singing and dancing swaddled in layers of flannel and wool was the most fun thing ever. They’d gone first—the kiss-of-death slot in TV land. The studio audience applauded enthusiastically, though, giving Cody a bit of hope.

  The elimination performance felt tenser this week, the relief of making it into the top ten long gone. Last week’s taping had been easier—everyone still so relieved to simply be there and making adjustments to their reconfigured groups.

  But this week the gloves were off—or rather, the plaid was on—and groups were casting shade with dirty glances and backhanded compliments between performances. The taping felt like a big episode
of Glee, complete with petty backstage jockeying for position.

  Apparently, Melanie Mercury dug hipster lumberjacks, standing up and applauding as they finished. The R&B guy was higher than a kite, his head moving from side to side like a bobblehead doll. But he pronounced them “groovy” and “my kind of jam.” As usual, the British judge was in need of an enema and some serious happy drugs.

  “Your sound is . . . hardly mainstream. I’m still not sure who your target audience is exactly.” He glowered at them, his bushy eyebrows knitting together. “But at least you used Ashley a little better.”

  Cody hugged Ashley as they walked offstage—she’d delivered. Lucas and Jeff had done everything they could do. Lucas was hopping around like a hyper Labrador with postperformance energy. What Cody really wanted to do was put all that racing adrenaline to good use, but he followed the PA out to the contestant seats.

  Cody untucked his flannel shirt from his jeans. If they had to wait an hour while everyone else went, he was at least going to be comfortable.

  “Sucks having to go first,” Jeff grumbled as they found their seats.

  “Smile.” Raven jabbed him. “Cameras.”

  “Why the hell do we keep getting the crappiest slots?” Ashley asked, managing to keep a fake smile in place.

  “I think it’s a lottery.” Lucas took the seat next to Cody.

  “Everything here is political. Everything.” Ashley’s camera-ready face was at odds with her chiding tone. Off to one side of the stage, the MC went through a few takes of an intro for the next group while the prop people moved set pieces into position on the main stage.

  “Like the after party. They’ve got it doubling as product placement.” Raven was on the other side of Lucas. “Fried Cluck? That’s not a party place. They don’t even serve beer.”

  “Or gay people,” Lucas said with surprising vehemence.

  “It’s our one night to let loose. I say we make an appearance for free food, then hit Dirty Thirty,” Ashley said.

  “I’m down with that.” Raven nodded her agreement. “But I’m not sure if we can drag Jeff to a gay bar two weeks in a row.”

  “Jeff’s down with anyplace where he can get his drunk on cheaply,” Jeff spoke up.

  “Great. It’s a plan.” Ashley’s smile was genuine this time. She made puppy eyes at Cody. “You’re coming, right? Cheap booze. Cute boys. Live music. You won’t make me drink alone, right?”

  “Umm.” Cody chewed his lip. He wanted to go. Badly. He needed the throb of music, needed the press of bodies, and needed the burn of tequila and the escape from the relentless pace of the show. Hell, he wanted to forget the fucking show existed for a night. If they moved on, it was another week closer, but it also meant another week of fourteen-hour days and endless rehearsals and rules.

  But he also needed Lucas. Who would be about as comfortable in West Hollywood as Cody would be on Lucas’s campus. Lucas, whose thigh was rubbing against his, knee tapping along to the group on stage.

  “Oh, I get it.” Ashley reached across him to tug on Lucas’s arm. “Hey, Lucas?”

  “Yeah?” Lucas blinked as he turned toward her.

  “Why don’t you skip the antigay chicken dinner after the taping? Come with us?”

  “Sssh. Performance about to start.” Jeff put his arm around Raven. Unexpected jealousy cramped Cody’s gut. Why couldn’t he touch Lucas as easily as Jeff could snuggle up to Raven? Cody had to run his palm up the rough denim of his pants to keep his hands to himself.

  Their relationship had shifted in the last week, but it was a shift Cody hadn’t quite wrapped his mind around yet. He wasn’t sure if Lucas was really up for being open about being together. Heck, Cody wasn’t even sure what together meant for them. He sucked at navigating complicated relationship shit. Especially on camera. Sucked not knowing when the camera might pan over the seating area, looking for a good reaction shot—or a bit of gossip to hone in on.

  And being okay with someone from the show guessing was a far cry from being okay with the TV audience knowing—and heck, even Cody wasn’t sure he wanted that. It wasn’t any secret he liked dick, but working the sexy was a big part of his stage appeal. Chicks who liked their boys a little on the flashy side, dudes who liked dudes, dudes who didn’t want to admit they liked dudes—he knew his audience. Single and sexy sold, and he didn’t want to risk being cute and coupled and cut from the show for a lack of fan support.

  Also, he loved attention on himself—for his music, for his looks, for not taking shit from stupid people. Whatever. He loved being known. But having attention on him and Lucas felt strange. He didn’t want to see Lucas being fearful or uncomfortable. Made him all protective and crap.

  Cody couldn’t concentrate on the performance happening onstage. He couldn’t place the song, and the female lead wasn’t doing enough to make her delivery memorable. He drummed his fingers against the arm of his chair, his mind twisting around how to get Lucas to go to Dirty Thirty. He could bail on his friends, go to the stupid advertiser tie-in after party. It would probably be the fair thing. And going back to their room would be no hardship—the last few days had been freaking awesome, with showering and rubbing off together before bed. And hey, maybe this would be the night he finally talked Lucas into oral.

  But his chest tightened. The a cappella people and all the college groups, silly rituals, and the slang he still didn’t get made Cody feel like he’d landed on a strange planet. Lucas’s world. He wanted to get Lucas into a Cody world, away from this crappy show and all its hoops.

  As a flashing red sign instructed them to applaud, the studio audience behind them roared. On autopilot, he joined in the applause.

  The audience quieted to let the judges talk. Disappointingly, their comments were bland, with no clues as to how they might be leaning when it came to final standings. Cody’s fingers started to twitch again. Would be nice to get some sort of sign Embellish would be moving on.

  “How about we make a bet?” he whispered to Lucas.

  “A bet?” Lucas asked as the group cleared out and the stagehands returned.

  “Yeah.” Cody knocked ankles with him. “You think we’re going home? Want to bet me on the order they call the groups out? If I win, you come out with us.”

  “I won’t drink.” Lucas’s mouth twisted, but it wasn’t a no.

  “You don’t have to drink.” Cody tried to promise all sorts of good times with his eyes.

  “Come on.” Ashley poked Lucas again.

  “Keep your hands off my boyfriend.” Cody batted her away. The word slid out with all the ease of his favorite hair gel, but it felt all sticky as it hung there, Lucas’s eyes going wide.

  Boyfriend still sounded off in his brain—like a suit in the middle of all his club clothes. He supposed it fit, though—friends sounded trite and fuck buddies seemed . . . disrespectful to Lucas. But heck if Cody knew how to be a boyfriend—hell, he couldn’t even manage being a halfway-decent friend most of the time.

  “So that’s how it is?” Ashley smiled smugly and made a show of holding her hands up. His admission didn’t seem to surprise her. Well, that answered the question of whether anyone had guessed about him and Lucas. And judging by Ashley’s knowing smile, she’d been waiting for the chance to tease him.

  Lucas went silent for a good long stretch, so long Cody figured the silence was his answer. Instead of paying attention to the next group, he started planning what he could do to Lucas back in their room. Maybe the studio after party wouldn’t suck complete donkey balls. Or maybe he could suck . . .

  “We don’t have to bet.” Lucas bumped his knee, jostling him out of his daydream.

  “That’s okay.” Cody rocked his ankle against Lucas’s so he’d know it really was. He dropped his voice. “I’ve got plans for you anyway—”

  Lucas took a deep breath, pulling himself up straighter. “I mean, you don’t need a bet to make me go. I’ll do it.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Look pani
cked,” the assistant director instructed as the groups lined up for the elimination announcement. The judges had taken an extralong time to confer this week, something that made Lucas’s already stressed nerves jangle like he’d accidentally brushed up against an electric fence.

  Stomach turning at Dane’s clipped nasal tone, Lucas didn’t have to work to look upset. What did I agree to? He’d spent the last hour second-guessing his decision to go out with Cody and Ashley. That, along with the impending elimination, had his legs twitching and his stomach twisting. Let’s get this over with.

  “They want to see real fear,” Dawn yelled as the stage lights went nuts with a strobe effect. “Hold hands!”

  Ashley linked up with Jeff and Raven before grabbing Lucas’s hand. Which left Cody the odd man out, standing on Lucas’s other side. And hey, if they were going to order him to hold hands, he wasn’t going to say no. He’d wanted to touch Cody all night. Before he could overthink it, he grabbed Cody’s hand. Raising an eyebrow at Lucas, Cody tilted his head.

  “Just taking orders.” Lucas controlled a blush.

  “Yeah?” Cody leaned in close enough to whisper. “I’ve got some orders for you later.”

  With his mind a dirty stream of possibilities, Lucas couldn’t pay attention to the MC’s recap of the performances. The spotlight paused on them, and Lucas mentally shook himself back to attention. The lights seemed brighter this week, and he was hyperaware of the feel of Cody’s skin against his. He almost dropped Cody’s hand a half-dozen times. Stupid. Even Trevor’s group was huddled up, with arms around one another’s shoulders. No one cared, and even if they did, so what?